Notes from my journal: “To me, he was freedom”

Anya Schultz/Senior Staff


My perfect home would be a house, on one of those quieter residential streets, like Parker, but not too far away. It would be old and creaky and wooden, medium blue with pink shutters. It would be a loving house – lots of home-cooked meals, lots of books and wine. All the people I like would live in it.



This is a moapy, awful Wednesday. Is there anything today that could be beautiful? Maybe I shouldn’t try to do work. Maybe I should just lay in bed and cry – that sounds perfect right now. But I think if I don’t do any work I will get stressed. All I want is happiness. This is one of those very sad days…but maybe I am allowed to have those?  I am going to take a hot shower.



I bought Karoline and me matching chokers because she said she is going to visit. Hers is a moon, mine is a sun. Or maybe we will switch.



I’ll miss your skin always. My deepest fear is that I’ll run into you one day when we are both old and we will realize we are strangers. I don’t want to be your stranger. If we run into each other, will we go to your car without a word? And even though we will both be old will we just do what we always did? Will we lay there wand watch the sunset through your back window?



I would love to a cleanse – not just like a juice body cleanse, but a life cleanse. I want to look at each aspect of my life and cut out the superfluous, the toxic. Is this even possible? Not just cutting out all the bad, but looking at every aspect, and even knowing what to cut?



It’s excellent the way the grass smells in California now. It reminds me of home in spring, right on the edge of summer. The way it felt that afternoon Lizzi and I were supposed to study for our 9th grade math final, but we laid under the trees in my backyard and ate Popsicles. I would kill for the stickiness of a Popsicle right now.



I felt myself missing him ore than ever today – his neck particularly. Days where we walked somewhere in sunlight. As I walked through Elmwood with Sofie – who was right, it’s the quintessential place, so magical it almost seems like it is from a movie – all I wanted was him. I remember the first time I realized I loved him. We were sitting at a play, holding hands, and I could feel the calluses along the areas beneath his fingers. To me, he just felt so real then. Another person. These calluses invoked for me images of wide-open fields with grass you would get lost in, the kind that smells like nighttime – cold and piney. To me, he was freedom.


Sarah Adler is a staff writer for The Weekender. Contact her at [email protected]